Scrapets
by Tora Marikama
Summary: There are many stitchpunk colonies, and just as many beasts, but what happens to those that are left behind? These are the untold stories of the orphans left abandoned to the emptiness: the Scrapets.


Disclaimer: I don't own 9

Author's note: Just so that it's clarified, LOL, JK, PB&J and the other scrapets belong to me, NOT Pisquared. For some reason I wasn't given credit for colabing with her. This is the story of the Scrapets past. I'm planning on doing 16 colabs, one for each child. If you're interested in colabing, send me a message. But I must be contacted first, and you must give me credit for my creations.

* * *

_They say that there is an old crumbled building, marked by yellow flags. A tunnel runs through it, made by the hermit that guards it. Take all lefts and you will find yourself at the entrance of a safe haven for pups that lost their lives and are looking for the start of a new one._

_Welcome to the Scrapet Orphanage._

* * *

Someone is here today.

I can hear them, right outside my room. It's the curse of having the bedroom right next to the office.

Every so often a couple comes to visit, and if they're lucky enough, someone will get a new home.

Not me though. There are things I can't forget.

Painful things.

Everyone here has a story . Some worst then others. Some that have been forgotten. But mine can't be lost to time. Someone has to remember, and as the current oldest, it makes sense that the someone should be me.

I'm TX and this the story of how the orphanage was formed, and how everybody got here.

But most importantly, it's my story.

* * *

My earliest moments are burly, but occasionally they come up, unbidden from the fog. Most importantly, I remember_ them_. Probably the hardest thing for any orphan to remember.

Ma was a light tan with stars patterning her, oval eyes and bound with leather strips, just like me and pa. I have her stars on my chest, patches on my legs, and on the left side of my face, one of her oval eyes on the right. But she'd always say I was my father's son, the spitting image.

He was a darker tan canvas, buttons going up sideways on his front, while my more jacket like front tied shut with a leather strip, often opening to show my stars. He wore a belt, plastic hoop decorating it, and he hung his rope from it. Pa was good with the lasso, and I was determined to be jus as good.

Spurs hung out of the back of his pointed feat, sharp blades that could cut though jus' about anything. He gave me some too, cause the world out there's tough, so you gotta be tougher, tough as leather.

He had a hat too, made from a thimble and washer, covered in leather. He was going to make me one too when I got a bit bigger, an' then I'd really look just like pa.

We were happy, I think. As happy as a family could be during those times. But things can change in a blink of an eye. You have no idea how fast. One day everything could be perfect, with no problems as far as the sky stretched, and then….

Sharp metal snapping, limbs from a creature long dead slashing at you, glowing red eyes-I will never forget those eyes. No matter how hard I try, they are forever burned into my memory. I will always remember the feel of a predators eyes staring me down, the feel of claws tearing though my back, turning around in horror, seeing dad get the lasso round its arm an' pulling it back, hearing my folks scream at me to run, and I did.

And then…I was alone.

Ma was gone, and pa had been crushed by a toppling pile when the beast rammed into it, trying to throw him off.

I was alone.

He promised me, I'd never be alone. They promised that it would be okay. It was all a lie. I was alone, and they were never coming back. An' nothing was okay at all.

You don't know how it feels, to lose everything that ever mattered in one minute, how it feels to be defenseless an useless and all you can do is cry for someone to help, someone to take the pain away, to make it all better.

I cried for a long time, curled up by my Pa's side after I dug him up. But after that long time I ran out of cries. I took the bead hoop from Pa's waist, an' tied it on the leather that held me shut. It's a reminder of what once was, and that's why I never forget. I took his rope too and hung it over my shoulder.

I left.

Cause ya gotta be tough.

For a long time after that, I was alone. I had to do what I had to in order to survive. I was alone…

…til _he_ crossed my path.


End file.
